


he's gone, but he used to be mine

by Amiteva3



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kind of a Happy Ending, M/M, Palermo needs a hug, Sad, but also not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiteva3/pseuds/Amiteva3
Summary: Based on the twitter prompt "What if Andres sketched Martin..And next to the sketches he wrote little messages, things he wanted to say to Martin, but never did....'You looked beautiful today'. 'You're so smart,' 'I admire you,' 'I love you'.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99





	he's gone, but he used to be mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Interesting Concept But Poor Execution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866152) by [ironccap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironccap/pseuds/ironccap). 



> Heyy guys! I really hope you like this, cause it took me a surprisingly long time to actually finish it lol. The prompt is not my original idea, I saw it on twitter on @lcdpalermo's lovely profile, so go and give her a follow! And while you're there you can follow me too @banndditto.

When Palermo went in the Monastery along with the gang, for the first time in three years, he noticed one thing. Nothing has changed. The place was exactly as he remembered it, with all his plans, and equations, and blueprints. Well, _their_ plans, equations and blueprints. Everything had stayed the same. Everything except the thick layer of dust laying on top of everything, and above that there were layers of history, layers of memories that also hadn't been there before. It almost broke him just seeing _his_ desk and _his_ notebooks and _his_ favourite glasses of wine, still in the cupboard. And his painting, God, his painting. But he was Palermo now. And if Martin would have stared at it until he cried until he wished to rip his skin off and look for that old gun, Palermo barely gave it a glance and moved on.

"Okay, guys, so you'll be staying here for the next couple of months, so you can learn all about the plan. Just like last time." Everyone turned to the Professor. "I have assigned everyone a room, so go there, unpack your bags and meet me here in forty minutes."

"Professor, you have finally turned into a real teacher. Assigning everyone a room and all." Tokyo laughed and a couple others joined her.

Palermo waited for everyone to leave and then approached Sergio. "Sergio, did you put me in my old room?" The older man adjusted his glasses and nodded. "I don't want it. I want a new one." 

"Wait, Palermo, what do you mean? What's the matter?"

“I just want another room. Give me Tokyo’s - she has a room for one.” He stopped to think about that for a second and said. “Ew, wait, no. Bogota’s room will be better.”

The Professor stood still, looking him up and down. After a while he sighed and Martin knew he had won. He had no doubt, really. They may not have the smoothest relationship, but after knowing each other for ten years they were the closest thing to a family each of them had. “ Fine. But you have to tell him. I imagine he has already unpacked his bags. Good luck.” With that Sergio left the room, leaving Palermo standing with his arms on his hips. Well then. He supposed it could have gone worse. 

After half an hour and a significant amount of sighing and grunting on Bogota’s part (but no yelling, surprisingly) the team was again gathered in the “classroom” as the Professor called it. This time Palermo saw he had brought desks for everyone and that there was a blackboard, in front of which was standing Sergio. He snorted at the sight - it was almost ridiculous how well the man suited the role of the nerdy teacher. The Argentine picked the desk on the last row, because probably for the first time in his life he wanted to go unnoticed. But that was soon ruined by non other than the Professor himself.

"Guys, first I want to introduce you to the newest members of our team. First we have Bogotá." He made a gesture towards the latter and he stood up looking around the room. Palermo noticed how his eyes lingered on Nairobi for a little longer, but decided not to comment on it. As he said - unnoticed. "He is mostly going to work with the gold, getting it out, melting it and just managing the furnaces and the workers down there." 

"Then we have Marseille." It was his turn to stand up and look around, but he looked considerably more uncomfortable by it than Bogota. "He won't be entering the Bank of Spain. He'll be out making the phone calls to the Inspector as well as helping me if something goes wrong." 

"And, finally, we have Palermo." The man mentioned put on a fake smile and stood in front of everyone, waving and bowing."Actually, will you come at front with me?" "Sure, sure." After both he and Sergio were standing in front of the class the Professor began. "Standing before you is the man who came up with the plan, along with my brother of course. This is Palermo, as I said, and he is an engineer, and he's been thinking about and perfecting the plan for ten years now. He will be lecturing alongside me." 

"Wait, what" Palermo turned to the other man, with a confused look on his face. " You never told me that."

"Yes, well I didn't think It'd be a problem. Is it?" 

"No, I suppose not, but you could've warned me. I would've brought out my suit from the forties so we could match." The room filled with laughter and everyone except Sergio seemed amused enough that they didn't complain about having another 'teacher'. 

“Okay, so the first lesson will be-

All the days seemed to blend into one. It was like a play in a theater, a successful one, that is performed everyday for a couple of months. Act one was breakfast and Sergio and Raquel were always the first two introduced characters, followed by Nairobi, Marseille, Helsinki, Palermo, Rio, Estocolmo , Tokyo, Bogota and finally Denver. Act two were the lessons - the most boring act, in Palermo’s opinion. Almost everyone was still at least partly asleep, so time went by slowly and agonizingly. Act three was lunch, which was much livelier than the first two. You could hear chatter on the table, little fights and little laughs. This was the part where the audience smiled and leaned back in their chairs, satisfied. Then act four was lessons, again. But same as act three, this was different, way funnier and more pleasant. Everyone’s brain worked in full speed by now ( except for Denver - medium speed _was_ full speed for him, thought Palermo) so it usually went by smoothly. Then it was dinner, then, if the audience was lucky, a football match. That was the climax of the play, where all the feelings reached their peak and undoubtedly the happiest moment of the day. And finally the end of the play, the Final act was bedtime. The time when all the actors go backstage and wipe their makeup off, already preparing for the next night.

Sometimes, in between the Final act and the First act the next morning, Palermo was wondering if he was the only one that saw their stay in the Monastery like that. Maybe he was. Maybe everyone else actually enjoyed it and he was the only one still stuck to the past, still too scared to even dare look at what the future might hold. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Then one day Act two changed. As the students were taking their seats the Professor proclaimed “Yesterday I noticed something that wasn’t necessarily worrying, but it was a thing that we can and should fix.” Everyone started looking around nervously not knowing what was happening. Even Palermo joined them, because Sergio had not told him anything important last night. That was the thing - as a second ‘Professor’ he was supposed to be told everything, but Sergio often kept him in the dark and didn’t tell him anything until three minutes before the class began.

“Don’t look so worried it’s not that bad. My thought was that this place is a mess. Since the monks are told not to worry us no one has cleaned in years and I do believe it’s starting to affect our work. So today instead of classes we’ll be cleaning.” He threw them a tight smile and Palermo snored as heard the sighs and grunts coming as if on cue. “ Let’s get cleaning.”

For the next hour the room was silent, except for the music coming from that old record player (Palermo’s doing, of course. Who could bear to do tasks in complete silence anyways?). Everyone was busy doing their own task until Nairobi’s voice cut through the silence. “ What the fuck?” She was kneeling next to an old cabinet, apparently trying to throw away all the useless papers. All eyes turned to her and Tokyo approached her. “What?” Whatever she saw made her eyebrows shoot up and both of them started throwing subtle looks at Palermo, which were not subtle at all. 

“Quit the bullshit, show me what you found.” As he was walking towards them he felt a knot tying in his stomach and suddenly all he wanted was to run away, to never, ever, find out what Nairobi was holding. But, of course, that would be stupid, and cowardly and, to everyone else, irrational. And Palermo was a brave man. The bravest.

However, the second he laid eyes on the image on the paper in Nairobi’s hand his whole body tensed and he let out a shaky breath. He would recognize this art style in a heartbeat, the way the swift lines moved and conveyed so much emotion. That was one of Andres’ paintings. And, of course Martin was the one he was painting. “Give me that.” the man growled and without waiting for an answer snatched it from her hand. Palermo saw that his hand was shaking, so he did his best to breath and not reveal emotions, _never reveal emotions, never Martin is dead, Martin is weak, Palermo is strong, no more emotions, no more pain._

Someone was saying something to him, then shouting, but he couldn’t hear anything. He was just staring at the painting. Funnily enough, he remembered exactly the day the painting took place. It was a lazy day with not much to do, so they both had laid in the garden, each with a drink in their hand. Martin had been reading some sci-fi book and had been almost asleep when he had heard a faint sound coming from Andres. He had looked over and he had seen the older man painting something quickly.

“Hey, you better not be painting me over there.”

“Oh, come on, you know I paint whoever is in front of me.” Andres had laughed, but that hadn’t seemed funny to Martin. He was both flattered that his friend was drawing him (just the thought of Andres looking at him this much because of the painting made him blush) and disappointed that in the end it was nothing special. That _he_ was no one special, as it turned out. 

But now looking at the painting, looking at the care with which every detail was drawn, at the emotion just oozing out of it something in his heart shifted. It portrayed him exactly as he was that day - with a loose shirt, hair ruffled up, book on his chest and eyes closed. Palermo’s eyes jumped up and down the painting, trying to take in every detail, every little dot, until he saw a little, almost unreadable message. ‘ _You look very beautiful when you’re relaxed.’_ The man gasped sharply and his hand started shaking so bad, he dropped it. 

“Palermo!” He felt someone shake his shoulders and when he looked up he saw Helsinki’s worried face staring at him. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

_Ha! Was he okay? Of course, he fucking wasn’t okay._

“I need to leave, please let me go. I need to- I need to,” he began mumbling and looking around for an exit. “Where are you gonna go?”

“To my room, or something, I just need to _go_! I just need to be alone!” Palermo then got free from the bigger man’s grip and walked towards the door as fast as he could, without looking as if he was running. “Palermo, dammit!” The Argentine heard shouts behind him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get away.

Palermo _did_ actually go to his room, where he wrapped himself with the softest blanket he could find and laid on the bed. He was shivering and his eyes were tightly closed, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Whether he was blocking out the memories or trying to grasp them as they went away he didn't know. Palermo laid there for a while and without knowing exhaustion and stress took over and he fell asleep.

When the man woke up someone was sitting on his bed. Palermo jumped at the unknown person, who he soon found out was not so unknown after all. " Hey, hey, calm down, now. It's just me, Nairobi."

"Nairobi?"

"Yes." she looked at him for a moment, before she gently took his head into her hands. "You've been crying, cariño.” Without knowing what to do, he just nodded his head and wrapped himself in the blanket again. 

“I just- I had no idea. He never showed it to me.”

“I know, I know.” Nairobi turned around and Palermo saw that Helsinki and Sergio were at the door, watching them. The engineer blushed at the sight, embarrassed that so many people saw him in this state. Apparently seeing his distress Nairobi quietly said “Go, I’ll stay with him” Both men nodded and silently left the room. After a second she turned to Palermo.

“I have something to show you. I don’t know if you’re ready to see it, but. Here.” The man just noticed that in her hand she held a grey folder. She handed it to him and with trembling hands he took it. Palermo already knew what was inside and yet that didn’t change the fact that when he saw the painting his start started beating fast and his breath hitched. 

There he was again. This time in front of the blackboard, pointing at something. Palermo looked at it up and down and soon enough he found the message. ‘ _You’re so smart. I admire your intelligence.’_ He felt hot tears pushing against his eyes once again, and embarrassingly he started to cry for the second time in a day. 

“I can go, if you want.” Palermo had almost forgotten that Nairobi was sitting next to him, but when he looked at her he decided that he didn’t want to be left alone. “No,” he said almost too fast and then backtracked, “I mean, I would rather you be here. To remind myself that this time it’s real.” 

He then took another one and turned it in his hands, carefully, like it was sacred. _It was._ On this one Palermo and Tatiana were on a beach. He couldn’t help but notice how his figure had significantly more details than the one of Andres' wife. Palermo tried to imagine for a moment how these paintings were created. Some were painted on the spot, like this one. But some, like the one with the blackboard was painted later. He imagined Andres, late at night, when Palermo was probably already asleep, painting. Painting and thinking of him. Because in the end, you can’t paint someone and not think of them, right? Then he saw the message and it made him feel hot all over. ‘ _Is it wrong to thing that you are more beautiful than my wife?’_

“I’m losing my mind. Is that it? _Am_ I losing my mind?” he turned to Nairobi desperate for an answer, desperate to _know_ , to have proof this is real. 

“I promise you, this is completely real. We couldn’t have painted all that in two hours, right?” She smiled at him and he found the power to smile back. “When you left we looked in the cabinet where we found the first drawing. We found this whole folder. Look through them all. But I want you to see this one.” 

She took the paintings from him and searched for a bit until she came across the one she was looking for. "Here." Nairobi said quietly. 

That one was very simple. It was just Palermo's face up close, smiling and looking at something not his left. It didn't stand out with anything in particular, but seeing it Palermo felt something tug at his heart. There was something in it, something nostalgic and sad, like a summer that's passed. Like a missed opportunity. But the thing that stood out the most was the water stains that were all over the painting. Tiny drops on his eyes, on his hair, on his lips. At first Palermo was confused as to where these drops came from until- oh. _Oh._

He lifted his head to Nairobi and his face was probably quite a sight, because she immediately took him in a big hug and squeezed him tightly. Then she said quietly in his ear, "Read the message, Palermo. Or Martin." He tensed for a second before relaxing again. The man mumbled 'Okay', but so softly that he wasn't even sure if Nairobi heard him. 

This time it was a little longer and harder to read, because of all the tear stains. 

' _I fucked it all up, didn't I. I'm sorry, Martin. I love you.'_

It felt like hours had passed since he had been staring at the not and trying to process it. Because, yeah, Andres might have found him attractive and intelligent. That he could kind of understand. But _surely_ this couldn't be true. Palermo looked at Nairobi hopelessly trying to find an answer to all this. He was surprised when he saw that her own eyes were blurry with tears. Or that may just be his own. He didn't know.

"Martin, I'm sorry. He might not have been the best person I know, but he didn't deserve that. And neither did you." By now the Argentine was full on sobbing and he grabbed the woman's arm, trying to hold onto something, because he was afraid of what will happen if let go. 

"Please stay with me. Just for tonight. I'm afraid- I don't know if-"

"I understand." She wrapped her arms around him one more time, trying to soothe his heart. She positioned them both more comfortably on the bed and in only a few minutes she felt Palermo still and his breath becoming even. He was asleep. And if tomorrow he had to wake up to a world offering him nothing but coldness, he had warmth for now.


End file.
